Legend
by Lightning Tiger
Summary: This tale defines why a Hero called Legend was hailed as greatest Hero of all time.
1. The Beginning

**Summary: **This tale defines why a Hero called Legend is hailed as the greatest Hero of all time.

**Warning: **Graphic violence and some suggestive theme

**Disclaimer:** I did buy an Xbox game of Fable. Yet, I neither claim it nor any of productions within the game as my own creations or inventions. I do dearly want to be in their shoes to create those fabulous ideas and see it come alive in Fable. Oh well.

**Part One - The Beginning**

_The General of Heroes awoke to see his love grooming her hair. The moonlight lit her features in veil of haunting beauty. She looked at him through the mirror that stretched as far as the wall goes and smiled, showing her whiteness that shone like pearl. The tremor roused at her smile and ran through his heart, arousing his fun naughty thoughts about her. He prepared to get up and approach her._

_Next to her, the two-story window shattered. The huge form barreled into her, held her body in its powerful limbs, and its jaw crunched her head with a growl. The blood sprayed into air, streaking the clear mirror, as broken glasses rained and twinkled like jewels of dirge._

_The coldness was his only response as he looked into glittering eyes of rising head of balverine who dared to kill her.  
_

The wind whistled and swept through the winter-laden land, with stark bushes and trees and dark dirt. A sparrow twittered as it leapt along the branches, twitching its head as it glanced down occasionally at the walking hulk of figure. Straight backed despite the weight of the world, the General walked carefully and purposefully despite the scream inside to give in, to stagger, and, ultimately, to lose to sorrow then darkness beyond.

It comforted him to hold the greatsword in his hand as he climbed forcefully through the neat slab of snow. The blood had darkened with chill upon his glimmering blade as he let it remain tarnished. He was not ready to clean it and face the memory of the dead. Coldness helped the coldness within, leeching all warmth and leaving only clarity in the dark, the snow in the dark.

He cleared the zenith and continued down in slightly louder crunch as he glanced ahead at the breathtaking view of a great tower looming in distance, reaching for the sky. The steam of breath disappeared into background of snow as he looked back down. He wanted to let his tears run. There was no more love to be there for comfort so he just put his head down and plodded on, preferring the working of walking to Teleport and then waiting. Waiting would only unhinge his mind and dwell upon the memory. At least, the walking would keep him warmed up and ready for battle once more.

They leaped, so many of them, as he expected of its timing. Balverines' claws reached for him in perfect well-experienced synchronization. His face instantly transformed into rigorous mask of fury, unhinging the colossal well of rage. His eyes narrowed to devilish glint by massive contorted muscle and his mouth snarled wide open in silent cry with his lungs emptying much air as possible. His sword clove the paws and, in an efficient brilliant twirl, through the bodies. His feet worked the footwork with rhythm of lightning as he turned and twisted, evading and attacking. He acted rather than reacting, forcing them to step to his rhythm, to his circle, before stepping past their defense like they are not there. None of Balverines could scratch an aura-like Shield form-fitting to his person, emitting up to only less than inch in every direction. In whispering flurry of snow, the furry bodies laid around him in large chunks. Years ago, a pack used to be tough match for him that dragged for hours, leaving him shredded in the end. Now the entire skirmish took only few seconds using his swordsmanship and a Rush spell. The only noise was roars of attackers and a butcher chopping many hanging meats at once and then silence.

He wished he could stand over them to savor a momentary triumph. He just simply stopped swinging, stopped turning, held his sword at his usual side again, his fury gone back to placid face of nothingness, and continued on as the last piece thumped into a bare tree. He had a plan therefore, there is no time. He did not look back. He could only feel the evaporation of lives cut apart, the raging warm fading into unforgiving chill. And he felt nothing execpt coldness and, perhaps, cold fury. Only a thought ran like thus: At least, they will keep him warmed up for grand finale.

So he strode on.

**A/N:** First fanfiction based on idea I developed while playing Fable. This is just a look into how the battle has begun. Hope you can see some capabilities of the General. In here, I don't depict the action. I depict what goes behind the action, into somewhat emotional state and psychological profile of character as he acts. Shield is Physical Shield. Rush is Assassin Rush. Just being helpful here so don't blame me if you cannot make connection before reading this :-).


	2. The Tower

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim any part of Fable as mine. I am merely using them to support my supplementary idea. After all, their ideas expressed in Fable are already wonderful. Why not add to it?

**Part Two: The Tower**

_The reports came in, breaking through his veil of grief. His last thought before turning to doing was of her pregnancy. It was the cruelest and most evil act of all to slay a pregnant woman, to wink out the hope bridling within. He listened as the messengers rattled away the facts into his head, channeled by the Seal of communication. An outpost beyond the border had went silent. The three border forts were overrun and the last occupants managed to activate an alarm beacon. The Farseeing spells revealed the tide of hundreds of thousands of invaders swarming straight for Lookout Tower, the only point to be bypassed before the cities and towns of Albion would come into their sight._

_He looked down at the body of his beloved. Her dead killer was pinned by the sword, shimmering as if expressing his internal rage, against the mirror, creating a spider web of crack of similar size as the corpse. The dark blood of Belverine were already making enlarging rivulets down. He couldn't give her a last kiss now. The killer had dared to rip off her head and swallowed it before dropping her corpse. It would be nice to give it to her body but it would feel meaningless._

I love you.

_That was all he could whispered with all of his heart as he raised his hand, nonverbally incanted a spell, and sent flames spreading into both bodies, cremating them in few moments. The mirror gathered into molten globs as the bodies dissolve into ashes. Another spell summoned the wind that gently, oh ever so gently, wafted the dust and ashes out into the air and the sky, glittering under the watchful moon._

Good bye.

_He shook back to action as his keen ears heard the faint screams, crackles of lightning spells, roar of flames, crackling of freeze, snarls of attackers, ripping of claws, yells of orders, chopping of meats, and glimmers of lives defending the castle from thousand invaders. He could still feel her warmth and softness over his skin as he slipped on the soft garments and snapped on his Bright plate boots, leggings, chest, and helm. He lifted his greatsword, the Sword of Avo's Sun, from the wall and rested it on his back. If needed to prevent it from cutting inadvertantly, he would charm the blade with Containment spell._

_He didn't look at himself as he unlocked the hidden door concealed in the wall mirror and went out of bedroom. He smiled as he listened to sounds of defense. He trained them well. Most of them were still alive. He assembled the hand maidens in next room, readied them with weapons, some with improvised weapons. He shook his head sadly as he saw questions forming in their eyes, answering them about his love. All saw wetness in his eyes._

_He swept out and into a vast hallway that led across the bridge above the deep gorge and ended at distant doors. He glimpsed a group of approaching spellwarriors, ex-Heroes of Guild, in the middle. All windows of the Hallway Bridge broke simultaneously as bundles of furs crash-landed and bellowed nerve-racking roars at any targets. He lifted a hand. Their motions halted as he casted a Freezing spell of mobile restriction type, directing the wave into the hallway. The details grew sharper as Time Slow spell came into effect, so sharp that every hair could be delineated from the farthest Balverine in the back against the door and socket torches._

_He perceived a sensation of blind full out run in the tunnel as he Rushed through the rows with blue trailing behind him. His sword rose and fell, circled and swept, spinning and twirling with enough speed to be invisible to any eyes. In few seconds, he reached other side. He deactivated the Time Slow and the echoing splashes of blood answered throughout the hallway._

_He waited as the two groups gathered their wits and hastened to his side. Among them, he saw a bright hand maiden tempered with fright. He grinned a little in her direction. A shaky but genuine smile was her reply. His love was fond of this girl, befriended this girl, happy to know that he liked this girl, speaking softly in his ear, "Love is more than could ever be expected of. Sometimes, you or I will have to be away and I can trust her to keep you company in my place."_

_The maiden saw the fate of the love in his eyes and came to confirm her support at his backside. Comforted by his prospect of future in her hands, he opened the door. The unusual darkness within the shadow was his only warning. Yet, he could only watch as five huge talons, each talon a size of a belverine's head, reached out and shredded the maiden into flying pieces before his sword could slice the threat apart._

Now, he was alone, the General of rising Albion.

Balverines came at him from everywhere, climbing, leaping, and running. The din was apocalyptic howl of hell to end the world he knew. He remained in perfect balance as he weaved and swayed through their rank, cleaving through mist of snow and blood. The blue sparks flew as some managed to connect, draining slight of his magical energy. His person radiated the fire and lightning spells at every second, scalding and cooking the many who circled beyond, waiting for a chance of mortal blow, while he used his sword to deal death in range. All he saw was ready death for ready Belverines. No trace of despair entered his eyes and they never will as he was content with being too busy plotting and carrying out enemies' ends as his chest heaved with effort and his heart sang with adrenaline. The fatigue was long way from arriving in muscle, about a couple of hours away. He focused on forward, leaving vast trail of fallen bodies.

The din faded and the only sound he heard was the orchestra written by his love, the opera of violin, piano, and trumpet playing with descending and ascending notes and volume, calling to peace and content that dwelled in every person's heart. She had written it while watching him. The playing gradually departed from written pattern and into independent flowing form that followed his every flow of motion, his sword, and his spells. The only sound that could define the heartbeats is a drum that thundered in rhyme with trilling of violins, braying of trumpets, and ringing of piano. It played unique complex piece for every kill.

Who knows why he can hear this. Perhaps it was mourning time for love.

They had awaited him at the gatehouse. More and more packs came in larger numbers as he ran the straight length of road leading thousand meters to the stone door at base of Lookout Tower. There the nymphs awaited him. One swooped front of him as violin trilled softly and slowly, releasing from a long high strung and vibrant period of actions as the lull between the fights. He turned to face the gate and performed many spells of lightning as possible. The world exploded as gatehouse and the wall burst and the ground erupted with flashes that arced everywhere in sky and evaporated every material, scouring a thousand of Belverines.

He turned slowly and bracingly as the shockwave buffeted him, resisting the attempt to stagger from shock drop in magical energy. The drop slowed the magical flow circulating through his body, affecting his body and changing his physical energy resonance. He knew with up-scaling swell of music in his mind that it was impressive to the viewpoint of the nymphs to see him in front of huge mushrooming dirty cloud over devastation.

The wave of nimbus of ice and earth and fire greeted him and splashed against his Shield, ringing like a twinkle bell and sent huge sparks scattering across large area. He disappeared.

The nymphs, the floating figurines with lidless eyes and thin humanoid shapes, blinked and began searching, oblivious to his appearance at their rear. His great sword, wide as his thigh and thin enough to slip between ribs, pointed down. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The Enflame spell flared, almost cracking the base of tower. The hot incendiary force spread wide and around the base. The roar was deafening as smoldering remains sailed far and wide, splattering the remaining wall that encircled the tower.

He landed in swish of loosen cape that spread like the wings. The area was shrouded in mist of steam and fog made from snow and fire. The music fell silent as he straightened up and calmly looked up at the door before him. Several heights of men, the granite door stood proudly. Carved upon it was the history of Bowerstone Town and Hero Guild. Hundred years ago, they had fallen during the bloody rebellion against marauding Heroes who had grown corrupt since death of the Hero who had cast the Sword of Aeon into the Void. The former Guildmaster and remaining members had slipped quietly out of their knowledge, adopting the Master and Apprentice training in private. Years, Heroes had became nameless and more purified and more helpful as the training process evolved endless until Albion recognized Heroes once more and erect the Heroes' Guild once more, close to Twinblade City, the famous spot where the Hero had clashed and defeated and spared the ex-Hero bandit leader called Twinblade.

Today, there was nothing to spare. He called to the door. The door shivered and transformed into a stone face with deep-set glowing eyes. A shiver passed over the granite expression, a quiver of delight, booming in deep earthen voice, "Welcome back, Master." The head bowed deeply and faded away. Silently, without any creak, the door parted.

There was only silence, no more music. His deep sad sigh, weighed with immeasurable nostalgia, whistled out and melded with the fog. Guess the time for mourning is over. He straightened once more and entered.

Inside, a circular chamber was large as the Chamber of Fate he had once visited underneath the ruin of original Heroes' Guild. There was no picture or light sources, except a white pillar of light that shone through a large hole from the distant top. The wall was dark grey and metallic while retaining the sense of mortars and stones, glinting with hidden glee, eager under little light. A long flight of stairs threaded clockwise at steep angle, starting on opposite side.

The tile pattern on the floor showed a huge circle with intricate pattern of symbol outlined by white lines that winded and sharpened at every end. He stopped in the exact center. The Will emanated from his body, probing into the floor before taking hold. The spell within the symbol glowed, responding to his hail.

The voice of ancient diabolic wisdom thundered in his head, "BEWARE THE TIDE OF FATE. A FALL IF NOT." The brief image appeared in his head of a gigantic head of Demon Dragon and the power of it was majestic. The gargoyles and draconic bust set on every jutting support seemed to glow red in tendem, a significant hint of the dragon's power.

He didn't say anything. He upped the spike in his Will channeling. The circle under him rose without fuss, smoothly accelerating at gentle pace as an elevator. The wall descended and he resisted the urge to follow with his eyes the stairs moving consistently to right.

"VERY WELL. A CHOICE IS MADE. LEGEND IS A NAME WELL DESERVED. HOW LEGEND WILL FARE AGAINST FATE?"

Legend was what every man and woman called him. At his every step, a great story sprouted as he became a center of rising Albion as the General. He neither acknowledged nor disdained it. It was just a name and everybody made big fuss about it, especially this dragon.

He grinned hard. Brutish primal expression of humor changed his handsomeness as his bright eyes glared down at the Demon Dragon in his mind.

He said with perfect weight of intense conviction,

"Pathetic."

**A/N:** I am just writing as it happens in my head. Like just creating dolls from ties and let them set loose in the box and sit back and see what happens as Stephen King would say. Sometimes, I tweaked the plot of course. In fact, I planned this as just a kind of draft. When this story is complete, I plan to revise it to make much more powerful impact. So any reviews will be helpful. Thanks. Also, there will be bigger character development about Legend as well as good back story in next part. I plan it to be so daunting to you, more so than this chapter. How can Hero make impact upon the society? That is very question that Legend had pondered ever since he was young. Something like "Ask not what can the country do for you. Ask what I can do for the country," from JFK.


	3. The Past

**Part Three – The Past**

_He listened some more as intelligence rolled in. He looked over the round map set on the stone tablet set in center of the domed room. He had built the room to be similar to the architecture of map room in original Heroes' Guild. The sandstones were bright and home felt, lit by cheery crimson diamond set in torches, mimicking the flames perfectly, going as far as to emit aura similar to dancing flame._

_He had first checked out his castle in the map. He was sited at edge of mountain, set against steep side, overlooking Brightwood City in its splendor, the province that once contained Darkwood and Greatwood in past era of Heroes._

_He gestured and the map zoomed in at his castle until the dots and status display could be seen. His whole garrison was under full barricade. Because he discovered the Minions disguised as balverines, the figures similar to minions of Jack of Blades. That was why the losses had suddenly increased. Half of his own surviving party fell to double-bladed staves and minion's magic before he slain the last of the attacking group and sealed themselves into the Chamber of Map. Minions were very high level of summoning. Someone was directing this huge tide, but was not commanding. Nobody can command balverines, can only guide their bloodlust very much like he guided Albion into new height of prosperity._

_Now the maelstrom threatened Albion, threatening what he built._

His ears perked at the howls from below. They were sharper and heavier than normal. Silver balverines were more cunning, stronger, and tougher as talented leaders of balverines. He could sense them climbing lithely upon the interior wall from underneath the elevator, catching up at prodigious rate. He felt a pang of impatience because it seemed that the elevator was slowing down intentionally. He dispelled the pang as just a blurred thought from contrast against such Silvers' speed. There were so many of them. Dismay would have struck down any spellwarrior beside the General. The attack would be massed more than any previous attacks so far as Silvers were more coordinated.

He readied the sword, flexing his heavily muscled forearm. He breathed through his fear, remembering _fear are good for sharpening your attention and conditions._

He looked up and caught the blue, green, and red glows of descending nymphs. He sensed their magic waves that rippled for assault.

But he smiled. He felt better now. Before hearing Demon Dragon's voice, kaleidoscope of pain and emptiness was paramount, even as he fought his way here. The absence of warmth was his only thoughts, his own inner balance against harsh cruel world outside. The dragon's voice, instead of confusing him as the intent, focused his world. He was finally able to think and to innovate again, to be the person he loved most to be. He is the General.

Or Legend, the unintended result of his efforts.

_At Heroes' Guild, he had joined amidst the steady stream of candidates. Only Guildmaster noticed the quiet intensity burning deep within the dark emerald eyes. His form, small for his age, served as excellent contrast to his eyes as he stood beside his short kindly father._

_Over his shoulder was two only items he would be allowed to own within the Guild. It was a book within a burlap bag. Guildmaster requested to see it. _Mind Penetration_ was simple inscription on the spine as Guildmaster took it from two small hands. Flicking through the book uncovered the simple yet elegant sentences and topics detailing how mind can work and how one can learn about oneself through practicing the life and through learning can deal with people in bad or good ways. It was written by famous philosopher who trained and traveled with a Hero._

_Impressed, Guildmaster handed the book back._

_"I take it that you are the one who asked for apprenticeship?" Guildmaster's quiet easy voice directed the question at him. He stood there, very composed for his age, as the father looked down at him._

_"Yes."_

_"Why?"_

_"I will learn best about myself here."_

_Guildmaster made pleasant thoughtful sound through his mustache, "That you can." Guildmaster then turned his attention to portly stout father beside. The father and Guildmaster had known each other. The father was a merchant that managed from rise out of poverty at very young age. In few minutes, Guildmaster bade him to go and see the Administrator. He walked through the indicated doors and heard the last word from the father to Guildmaster, the word that changed his world._

_"…adopted."_

Dark blood streaked through air as the Silver and nymphs were flung in direction axial to the origin of Force Push. The sheer power of it reverberated as heavy rumble through the circular elevator, the air, and the wall. The light on the circle flickered. The echoes barely faded as silver shapes flashed up the wall and sprang at him. He already moved with two efficient steps and his greatsword sweeping down. One arc cut through three. A twirl brought new arc upward to dismember four that landed in nearly neat order or sailing through midair. A couple back step brought his blade, seeping and trailing gore, through four and then fifth one in midair in a curving line. A blue ball of light landed and the huge icicles spiked through two silver furs, missing him as he leaped away and slashed two more open. A lightning sparked in unbridled fury and forked several nymphs during their stage of releasing their magic globes. Their bodies plummeted down through the gap and exploded, lancing through several balverines and disorienting others. He used double spells in lightning by killing a target then implanting a booby trap composed of bomb. All tricks needed to shave off the tide.

The Circle had grown weaker with increasing height, sagging under numerous Silvers that were twice his height. So it tipped ponderously back and forth, following the heaviest assembly. Some heart-stopping moments had him dancing at the edge, taking maximum advantage of little traction to dodge scrabbling claws and diving bodies. He usually ended these moments by stepping on and leaping off the sliding bodies.

He slipped, slid several meters, and regained his balance for umpteenth time, taking down more of slavering balverines in another swing of sword. He had managed to figure out the trick to curve the trajectory while sliding, very much like ice skating. The blood was slicking the surface and the untouched sections looked more like several puddles. It was treacherous for normal footwork so he was already into his new style of footwork. He called it skating. It brought him back to the time when he first learned to ice skate with the girl he loved during a winter honeymoon.

Once in a while, he would jam the sword point into the Circle and stacked several lightning spells and eject vast static impulse to electrify the Circle so any attempt to climb from bottom would be electrocuted in colorful display. And the claws, paws, the tapered muscular body of fur, and glowing eyes were flung away, sometimes separate or intact. He stacked several fireball spells that blazed two dozens into smithereens that fluttered back into the gap.

Instinct flexed his body, shaking his center of gravity loose from hold, as huge force smote his back and screech of Shield protested. He spun before the culprit could get out of his range. The culprit's head fell away and the dark fluid gouted from severed neck before a tip of Circle carted it over the edge. The contacts with Shield were becoming more frequent and costlier than casting. Amidst the noise of scribbling and cleaving, he discerned a peculiar splash that sounded too close and too metallic. He glanced down to see dark fluid that was not his on his chest, already dripping off the hem. His Shield was down.

A little potion time and a bit of Recharge. He slipped a finger-long vial out of his vambrace and swallowed it and crunched the crystalline structure made of fruit cellulose, rendering it edible and healthy. The blue fluorescent liquid went down his gullet. He concentrated and enacted the spell that went deep into himself and stroked the Will energy that flowed through his body network like a bloodstream. The penumbra of blueness spread from his chest as the potion and the spell did their work. He felt refreshed mentally as if the headache was gone.

The blue aura came forth from his body, dark against the wall and under little light, enveloping him in protective shell once more. And he moved to dodge a vicious swipe and parried another with a flat of his blade and riposted, opening three jugulars in one.

The whole recharge took only a split second as he trained for hundred hours.

_Recharge was his invention after his lengthy research when he was just twelve. It was a unique spell to amplify the restoration of Will energy during potion intake. With this he could separate the regular Will potion into vials. Each vial with a Recharge spell will restore several times the amount that a single potion could._

_"What will you do as a Hero?" The teacher made this rhetoric during a class lecture._

_Later on, his serious eyes glassed over, seeking through webs of thoughts in distance. "I always been thinking about it since I joined," he confided as a Historian sat in library chair and willingly listened, "Only solutions came. I can always give them something. The big factors in success are the chemistry of relationship, the knowledge, the wisdom, and the interpretations. All will be expressed in actions and words."_

_"The bottom line is…," the Historian prodded in soft tone._

_"It's me I need to purify first. So I can see unclouded. Then I will need something to keep me purified, to keep me going, to be a kind of Hero I desire."_

_He moved and stared deep into the historian's eyes. The Historian shivered with thrill as always as she discerned quiet intense energy burning behind his dark green eyes._

_"I need a code."_

The blood would dry as Force Push cleared off the wetness so the friction would be better. Then more dismembered bodies would fall and more liquid would pour slickness again. The humming rose to breaking point as the Circle flipped over, remaining supported by supernatural forces concentrated at its center.

Everyone immediately moved to take advantage when its edge was at the highest, where the land was narrowest and Silvers thought themselves stronger in flight. He naturally had upper hand there, predicting its tipping rhythm like erratic pendulum. He used it to full effect, standing on the edge and blasting either side with stacks of lightning and fireballs that thundered and exploded, chipping off the weathered walls. The world lit up with yellow and orange and blue kaleidoscope. The Circle capsized completely, presenting untarnished side, and he reverted back to fresh footwork relying on traction once more as more enemies thumped and flew.

He had to widen his eyes to see well. Things became harder to see. The light was fading. Another Force Push wiped the slate, enforcing the lull he needed to look up. A dark rift imposed itself in midair above him, expanding until it touched the wall on all sides. The swirl of dark colors stirred like milk and chocolate mix within the rift.

The Circle rose inexorably toward it. He brought his sword to ready stance and lowered it to relaxed causalness. The Silver Balverines were fleeing, chased by horror of their own fear. There were no more howls. The nymphs had disappeared. The Circle balanced itself with an evident relief that was so heartfelt that he restrained the chuckle.

The distance shrunk steadily between him and the black portal, which he recognized as. Finally, he knew he arrived. It didn't feel like passing through the gate. It was like having the world changed upon him. The purple wind coalesced from nowhere and, visible by cloud-like streams, gusted through him in consistent direction, turning the world purple and black. He watched as the wall around him inverted itself as if a god's hand was turning the hourglass of world upside down. The structure had turned queer, always flowing between liquid and solid state so it was consistently in the middle, losing the color until they turn black forms. It was like seeing the brick wall covered and shimmered in fire.

He looked down. The Circle was gone. In its place was great circular floor with great weathered pillars at edge. He looked up.

Standing there in malevolent miasma was an extremely powerful Lich.

_A Hero was never without somebody at his back and his side. He will always need competent men and women at his beck. Therefore, at age ten, he recognized the need for creating formidable organization as excellent support. Years later, he hadn't yet put it into operation._

_The sprout of foundation had begun budding when the passing Guildmaster eyed the mug as he read the spell books and dissecting the spell backward and detailing it._

_Guildmaster said, "Heard you been drinking the whole month's supply of that, my boy." In just few days, the Guildmaster did not add. His quill paused as he looked up. Guildmaster nodded toward the mug. It was half full of lukewarm herbal tea stirred with soy milk and honey._

_"The cook is in despair and blames you for stealing too much."_

_"Just call it a vice. I will see what I can do," he smiled as he sipped. The herb assisted and supplemented his sight and brain and body flow, especially the Will energy. The herb looked like flower with weed-like stem but was not a flower. Its steaming smell and tastiness attracted him most._

_As Guildmaster proceeded on, harummphing thoughtfully, he suddenly paused midway to setting the mug down as a thought struck him. He grinned and returned to his study._

_On next day, the cook found several boxes with a note on it: Just keep it coming to the library and I will supply more and here is the receipt from whom you will recognize. Cook scratched the head and commented on how in world did he come here and leave them here without leaving any trace. Cook read the receipt and nearly swallowed the tongue. The receipt was written from the legendary chef._

_"How by the ripe meat does the boy have such pull?"_

The huge Lich, easily twice his height, withdrew a ghastly broadsword. The Sword of the Dead absorbed all light and created the black light darker than shadow. It shrieked in way of dark Will energy. And the army of the dead rose and climbed their way out of the ground, surrounding and crowding upon him.

The Lich voice was hissing guttural, grinding of granite set at higher pitch but retaining the ability to make skin crawl, "You, the legendary General, have a plan. Made with contingencies you had set in advance, with resources you had stockpiled. Somewhere on this tower, the plan should be instigated."

Legend drew in a breath and propped himself on the knee. His two gleaming emeralds suffused with luminous Will power contested with two bright bloodthirsty lights in sockets.

"Draw it out if you can. Stop it if you can." He said.

The Lich nodded once, "You have Summoning ability similar to legendary Jack of Blade, may the devil bless his soul. You are able to summon your own legionnaires, the powerful soldiers equal to or perhaps greater than minions of Jack of Blade. You had never used it once here. Therefore, you are a key to your own plan here. I shall strip it from you."

_The day of graduation from apprenticeship into full-fledged Hero was over._

_The willowy Historian approached the taller hulk figure on stony veranda. She leaned on the fence as she watched the panorama of garden and forest. The red dying burst of sunset sparkled the horizon and the mountains._

_After few minutes as silence between them became more comfortable, she turned and was startled as he turned his head toward her. A door had locked itself behind his eyes, hiding the fire that burned. They became the eyes of adult. They became the eyes that had seen sorrow, pain, and joy and became the mirrors that reflected any seer's spirit._

_A few weeks ago, he had mysteriously vanished on an adventure. Few days ago, he came back vastly matured and more confident. His pace of growth had once more flabbergasted everyone who had come to rely on him during his stay. She sadly reflected that she was going to miss the days when his eyes blazed with such inner intensity._

_"Have you established your code?" She said softly, aware she was being more than fond of him._

_His genuine smile warmed her. "Yes. That shall be my secret forever. If someone figured it out, I shall neither confirm nor deny it."_

_Soon, the Historian knew, he will be a living legend. She decided at that spot that she will be at his side forever as part of his hidden organization or separate. After all, he was going to be the greatest._

**A/N: **Not much character development here, I am afraid. I wasn't aiming for anything at all. I was just writing to impress with this character. The next chapter titled The Crucible, shall reveal way more, including the conflicts that beset him and harsh lessons he learned. Perhaps, you will come to like him. And the plan the General have in his mind. Mystique could be way better if I just put more effort into it. Please review on how I did in this chapter.

By the way, Lich is an idea i heard about from World of Warcraft even though I never played it. My definition of Lich for this story is an undead that rose above other in Will power, so high that it gains complex intelligence equal to any human or a Hero and become steeped in casting. Only high-level Hero ancient in age and experience and talents could have a chance of defeating it. Lich does not have much experience in subtle as they are birthed with supernatural level of Will power and never socialize much. Therefore, they are direct and have tendenacy to give away what they are about to do. Looking this way, they are extremely smart instead of stupid because they can make you feel repulsed, so much that you rather give them what they want instead of suffering. No normal villager can withstand a Lich. Or would you rather have the Lich's rotting but gooey muscles flapping themselves at you, insanefully groveling in its power, greedy for very life force within you so you will be dead by time he finished sucking it from you? Oh by the way, the Lich absorbs everything alive so the flower will wither where they walk, including the human flesh. So be careful to not let them touch you. Oh did I mention they can move abnormally fast or cast elemental spells to bind you or something?


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